Junebug
by Cosmia
Summary: Or: The Secret Lives of Frogs. In which Hermione is a scary feminist, Draco's into misogyny and jumping, and pregnancy happens. I've got Bob Dylan, vegetarians and swearing and I still can't believe I'm putting my name to it.
1. Prologue of Doom

**Junebug.**  
_Or: The Secret Lives of Frogs. In which Hermione is a scary feminist, Draco's into misogyny and jumping, and pregnancy happens. I've got Bob Dylan, vegetarians and swearing and I still can't believe I'm putting my name to it._

Notes:Oh Jesus, so many. Firstly, yes, it is very AU, and I don't own anything and I'm not serious and I don't have any money but I do know about frogs, or at least I think I do. And no, I will not give you a reasonable explanation as to how Voldie disappeared from the face of the earth and why everything's cool and no one's dead. Sorry, but I'm genetically programmed to fight angst and grief and actual plausible plots and to spread feminist propaganda (AHAH, how I love that phrase) to the masses.  
And I swear too much and and am offensive about everyone but in an endearing way and make references to films you won't have seen, or bit to films you will have seen but never paid any attention to. Like my favour bit in Catch 22 is the whole  
"Orr?"  
"Sweden!"  
"Sweden?"  
"Orr!"  
and no one gets it when I shout it at them OKAY I'LL SHUT UP NOW.

Prologue: Of bad beginnings and the reproduction of small, rasping amphibians.

It takes about two minutes and thirteen seconds of unsatisfactory groping to impregnate Hermione Granger. She is really very drunk, cross and has been rendered temporarily squinty by the alcohol she has consumed. Fucking Hufflepuff and their fucking start of term raves and their fucking brilliant persuasive techniques.

Hermione might come across as a massive geek but she's a British teenager as well, and everyone who reads newpapers or hell, even watches Newsround, knows that all British teenagers spend their weekends getting drunk in fields and vomiting under street lights. It's a fact universally acknowledged. They've done it for centuries. Ask Thomas Hardy.

Once they reach maturity, frogs assemble at a water source, such as a pond or perhaps a stream, to breed, usually around February. The low temperature of the water helps the developing tadpoles because dissolved oxygen concentrations in the water are highest at cold temperatures and it means that appropriate food will probably be available to the developing frogs at the right time.

Hermione and her badly chosen mate do not quite achieve amplexus - far from it, in fact, as she couldn't have achieved that level of gymnasticism sober - but the effect is the same. She wakes up the following day, sticky, still cross, but non the wiser. It takes her another two weeks to realise she's up the spout and that unfortunately, she does have a father for it. She tells this to Ginny Weasley, who, in the manner of all generic Hogwart confidants, offers no practical advice but does come with a tureen of mangos so they sit and eat citric fruit as Hermione winges about the cluster of cells currently mitosing inside her womb. "I can't believe it," she raves. "I'm on the pill and I don't remember anything!"  
"He could have magic jiz," Ginny offers helpfully. "Oh, actually, plausible theory! I read somewhere that jet lag buggers up your ovaries a little bit, what with the time zones and all that, so you might have been susceptible to sperm then because this place," she says, smacking Hermione's mattress with her fist, "is magic."  
Only much later does Hermione realise Ginny has gotten that amazing piece of science from a Mills and Boon book so it is almost certainly horse crap.

After about eleven more days of secretly harbouring some bastard's bastard, Hermione is jumped in library which surprises her on two levels. Firstly, she does not immediately vomit on the shoes of her ambusher, which she has recently taken to doing. This has led to the staff of Hogwarts thinking that a creature best described as being "like that massive frog in Pan's Labyrinth" has taken up residence in amongst the students but as no one has been consumed so far, the danger is not quite at a critical level. I digress. She thinks she has stopped being violently sick in the mornings because she has taken to consuming fennel and green tea. This is a lie. She has stopped being violently sick because Ginny, the excellent friend that she is, has drugged her. Bored of her roommate's obvious signs of increasing levels of progesterone and chorionic gonadotropin, she has been adding lemons and bananas into Hermione's diet. She also buys the aforementioned impregnated witch a lettuce, to assist with the lactation, which drives Hermione into a panic related to the quickness of magical gestation. However, this is over ridden relatively quickly when she realises that Ginny's enthusiasm far outweighs her actual knowledge of the situation.  
Secondly, she is jumped by everybody's favourite adonis-come-fan-of-totalitarian-evil Draco Malfoy, who, for all his pleasant countenance has no idea how to charm the ladies.  
"Hey bitch," he says, appearing from behind a bookcase with all the stelth of an aggressive caterpillar.  
Oily squit! Vile autocrat! Twatting oligarch! She shrieks internally. Not externally, of course. Being brought up by bourgeois dentists prevents such a thing. Such manners are what hold the majority of secondary edjucation together. That and the implied threat of corporal punishment.  
"Yes?" She inquires with curiosity obscured by weariness brought on by cubes of frozen fruit juice and no fucking coffee.  
"There was a Hufflemuff rave a few weeks back. You got naked and danced on a table and I was completely rat arsed and we might have-" He tries to convey the motion with interlaced fingers, a curved brow and some jiggling. This impresses nothing on Hermione, who was he lost at Hufflemuff.  
"We what?"  
"Bitch. I hate you."  
"Your professions of malice and hostility are all very well but I have no idea what the fuck you're saying."  
"He's trying to say he shagged you!" A disembodied voice from behind a Charms textbook shouts. "And he's too much of a chicken shit to actually say anything so he's resorting to gesticulation and awkward jerks to tell you."  
The ethereal voice is Millicent Bulstrode. Draco gives her the finger. There is a chain of thought that says it wouldn't be the first time but we should leave that. "Is this true?" Hermione asks, incredulous to the point to stupidity. Draco looks highly embarrassed and nods. Stupidity is replaced with insensible anger, which manifests itself in senseless violence and at exactly five past nine on the fourth of October, Hermione Granger delivers her first proper punch. It is concise and well aimed. It is conveyed with such velocity and conviction that it shatters Draco's nose quite cleanly. It would both comically misplaced and a lie to say that he took it like a truly virile swain, but it was really not the time for a cocksure stance. Hermione would have found some other way of crushing him.

Germaine Greer once said that the tragedy of machismo is that a man is never quite man enough. How, sadly, very true.

* * *

_And a thank you to the children on my school bus who came up with the Hufflemuff. They are amazing. I will one day buy them a pumpkin for their trouble. Join me in the next installment, once I have written it. It'll be immense, I promise._


	2. First Chapter of Wonder

**Junebug.  
**_Or: The Secret Lives of Frogs. In which Hermione is a scary feminist, Draco's into misogyny and jumping, and pregnancy happens. I've got Bob Dylan, vegetarians and swearing and I still can't believe I'm putting my name to it._

Notes:Oh, I repeat any warnings and disclaimers I made last time. I think it works better that way. It is not beta'd because I am lazy when I'm on the computer. It's just me and you, charming reader, so let's get cosy and begin.

Chapter One: In which shit really happens, Hermione fails to learn anything at all and the seed of extremist feminist behaviour are sewn.

The next time Hermione sees Ginny, she is trying to remove the hairs on her arms with sellotape.  
"That is improper use of stationary," she tells her well meaning ginger friend, but her heart just isn't in it. She cannot even raise herself to be displeased by the disruption this will cause to her natural order.  
"It could be worse," Ginny says. "He could have been fugly. Then you'd have a fugly baby."  
"I'm having Rosemary's baby," Hermione wails.  
"I thought you said it was Malfoy's?"  
Hermione dispairs for a moment, regarding Ginny's ignorance toward the films of disturbed Hollywood producers as horrific, but then remembers that she had to stop Ginny's education of all things muggle and modern when the girl complained of nightmares whilst watching the first season of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, on account of her thinking that Sarah Michelle Geller was in fact going to descend from the ceiling in her ankle bashers to blast them all to Christ knows where. Despite Hermione's frequent assertions that witches could not be frazzled alive with holy water, and that they were in fact just muggles with an intuitive sense when it comes to the metaphysical, it did nothing to disperse Ginny's fears.  
"What happens when I get big?" Hermione says. "People will notice. What do I do then?"  
"You could try a womb minimising spell. If such a thing exists."  
Leaving the queen of all reasonable advice behind her, Hermione makes to perambulate her way around the corridors in an aimless manner, hopefully bumping into someone who will give her some food.  
She does bump into someone, as it happens, but they don't give her anything of nutritional value.  
"So you're Draco's babymama?"  
Millicent Bulstrode is neither charming nor particularly pleasing on the eye but she does have an air of honesty about her. It's the kind of pervading air that comes with most heartless bitches but it is what makes them appealing to other members of the same sex. It's a odd type of charisma.  
I digress.  
"How does he know?" Hermione says in a worried, melodramatic voice last heard in a bad adaptation of a Bronte novel.  
"He doesn't. You're just lucky that your completely unsubtle vomiting and general hormonal imbalance unnoticed because your child was fathered by the single most self centred creature in Christendom and the outside world. But I would tell him, if I were you, because it would scare the living bejesus out of him." Hermione is not swayed by this clever use of Catholic imagery. It shows. "Alright," Millicent says, "I shall rephrase this. Better you tell him than I or any of my associates."  
"You're not going to tell me you've put one of my men in the morgue are you? Because I can't run through that scene. We could do Pulp Fiction. You can be Brett and I'll be that one who isn't Vince."  
Millicent, unsurprisingly, has not a fucking clue what Hermione is talking about so resorts to the time old mannerism of just swearing in a bemused fashion.  
"Just tell him you fuckwit before you do something buggering silly."  
Hermione finds herself wondering whether this irrisory humour is something that has always existed, and that she has never noticed, or whether learning things has stopped her from, you know, noticing the rest of the human race.

She puts this to her companions at dinner. Ginny tells her that it's totally untrue but Ginny, Hermione thinks, probably thinks irrisory humour is some kind of Nu Rave group.

Nu Rave reached the wizarding world sometime in the early Noughties. This in itself was rather surprising; for a community that hadn't quite managed to quash ideas on imperialism and racial purity, it is down with the kids when it comes to music. Another big thing was salsa, but then you can't knock a good thing down.

This consideration of Ginny as some silly bimbo is wholly misplaced. The girl might not be the sharpest tool in the box but she's not completely incompetent. She knows a fuck load about salmon and the wizarding world is in need of a voice in the world of fisheries and agriculture. She could be that voice.  
Or, she might just spend the rest of her life making bejewelled pants for rich old women.

In her time, Hermione has done a lot of thinking. It's what she excels in. Logic is definitely her thing. She can, however, think of no rational approach to bring her to tell her unwilling sperm donar that he has done a little more than stain her jeans.  
As Harry will tell her when she relays the news, this ain't no Etch A Sketch. This is one doodle that can't be undid.  
So she settles to confront the not very astute feller whom Ginny has christen, in light of recent events, her babypapa in Herbology. He can't do anything crazy and anyway, practically no one took it. It'll be them, Neville and a handful of kids who failed to get into the NEWT Astronomy course. It's a universally acknowledged fact that Astronomy dropouts take Herbology. It's the equivalent of dropping Maths to take Photography.  
Draco is taking it because, though rich, he is still a bit dim.  
Hermione is taking it because she thinks the flowers are nice. Not that she'd ever tell anyone. To those who ask (and there are few) she just says that she's interested in furthering botanical uses in magical medicine, which has enough long-ish words to baffle the average student.

I digress.

Hermione's plan begins well enough. By that I mean she doesn't inadvertently go into premature labour at any point in the day beforehand and she avoids any more potential pep talks with Slytherins.  
Nothing explicable occurs to her upon her entrance to the greenhouse. She isn't bitten by some magical nibbling plant, and nothing tries to set her hair alight. She lies in wait, obscure by some deadly but surprisingly sleepy greenery until Draco is gloved up, and so therefore less likely to hurt her.  
"Hi there," she says in a cheery way as she makes her approach.  
"Fuck off."  
"Was this how you got into my pants last time? Because if it was I'm seriously starting to worry about my levels of alcohol consumption."  
"I am not interested in getting back into your pants, as you so charmingly euphemistically put it," he counters in a very bored voice. "We hobbled on the sofa because you were out of it and I thought you were that Hufflemuff with the great tits. We all make mistakes. Now fuck off."  
"You had me while I was out?" Hermione says, outraged at his lecherous audacity.  
"It was kinda fun in a necrophile sort of way. Have you finished?"  
Want Hermione wants to say is something along the lines of 'go die in a pit you misogynistic narcissistic twatface' but, once again, she keeps her opinions to herself.  
"I'm pregnant," she says instead.  
"What?"  
"I am up the spout. You've stuck a bun in my oven. My womb is blossoming forth with your seed." The last analogy makes Draco drop his tweezers and go a funny shade of puce. "I don't like you either by the way. I'm not carrying it out of some creepy devotion to you."  
"It's not mine!" he snaps. "I'd never get you-" He gesticulates wildly, unable to utter anything.  
"I haven't slept with anyone else."  
"Anyone else that you remember," he tries to add.  
"I really don't think anyone else in the school would engage in the kind of drunk shenanigans that you like to engage in, like shagging unconscious young women."  
"You were perfectly consensual," he says warily.  
"I couldn't see who you were!"  
"You still said yes!"  
"You were crap," she says, aiming decidedly off topic and vaguely below the belt with her insults. "There are trolls better in the sack than you."  
"How many trolls have you shagged, Granger?"  
"I couldn't feel my legs! And I think you're skirting the issue here. I am going to have a child with you in about eight months. Don't you have responsibilities?"  
"Fuck no. Not until you can prove it's mine. For all I know it could be the ginger minger's and you could be angling over child amenities. You women are all the fucking same."  
"Now listen here, you," Hermione snaps, waving her secutares at him with a look of malicious intent, enraged at his blatant and highly unattractive chauvinism. "And you are going to listen because my hormones are very fucked and I've got a pointy thing here." She doesn't mention that also, she has ninja fast reflexes because she spent the summer learning all sorts of oriental fighting skills in her local village hall over the summer and so would be able to snap him like a twig if he so much as moved to fight her. "This is definitely your baby. When I explain to my parents what has happened, I will stipulate you as the guilty party. When they complain to the school, you will be branded as the corrupter of Hermione Granger and McGonagal will have you castrated. And another thing!" she says crossly. "I was not a virgin!"  
Draco just sits for a moment as Hermione storms away, both of them furious and slightly confused. Hermione does not know for a fact that McGonagol will try to geld the greasy bastard and Draco does not know what the fuck just happened. The imminent threat of fatherhood has not quite set in yet.

It takes about two hours. At approximately half past five in the afternoon, he is found banging his head against a wall in the Slytherin common room, gnashing his teeth and bewailing the unfairness of his existance. Millicent Bulstrode tells him to shut the fuck up because it's not him who's carrying the baby. This draws quite a crowd. Who has Draco impregnated? Suspicion automatically falls on the Slytherin hoes, who denign it all. It's not one of their numbers. So puzzlement falls across the school. Ten to one, it's a Patil. Two to one, it's a Hufflemuff slag.  
So when Ginny inadvertently reveals to her partner in Charms the true identity of the chalice of Draco's seed, though her name is now blackened by her harlotry, Hermione does make a packet. She was down as one hundred to one. It must be, she thinks grimly, a good start to any child's life.

* * *

  
The moral of this chapter is don't write stuff after you've watched Torchwood. Mmm, Torchwood. Glee and doom don't make for good prose composition. But join me next time because I'm bound to be less distracted. The novelty of Jack Harkness molesting everyone in Cardiff for the good of the universe will wear off after a bit _oh, fuck it, it won't._


	3. Second Chapter of Glory

**Junebug.  
**_Or: The Secret Lives of Frogs. In which Hermione is a scary feminist, Draco's into misogyny and jumping, and pregnancy happens. I've got Bob Dylan, vegetarians and swearing and I still can't believe I'm putting my name to it._

Notes: This part was composed in a Buffy induced trance. That is why it is obviously so fine. All spelling mistakes can be blamed on my hero-worship of Giles.

Chapter Two: In which we learn that consenting adults can rarely explain themselves adequately and everyone begins to be inarticulate.

The previously unmentioned wonderchild Harry Potter has taken it upon himself to find Hermione, who has disappeared following what is being called an 'incident' with three girls. He feels that her attack was possibly a bit much; she has rendered two of the three completely and possibly irreversibly mute.  
Unsurprisingly, she is very easy to find, even without magical help. Hermione does not have the most active imagination, and also, Harry is not afraid of the girls' toilets.  
The library is oddly quiet, probably because most students have decided to attend lessons.  
"Hey, Fertile Murtle," he calls out. "You in here?"  
"Bugger off," Hermione says gruffly from her hiding place in the stacks.  
"You did some pretty nice damage back there," he says pleasantly. "I think you rendered a girl blind in one eye."  
In hindsight, Hermione thinks her use of the shoulin skills might have been a bit unprecedented. Next time, she will warn her opponent before she delivers a skipping dragonfly.  
Harry finds her, finally, atop a bookcase, partially invisible with a pile of books.  
"You can't hide forever," he tells her, scanning the literature by her side.  
"I don't intend to." Harry notes that Hermione has surrounded herself with what Ron would call feminist propaganda. This, he thinks, might be the start of something dangerous.  
"It's a fine mess though," he says. "I mean, you'll be in serious trouble."  
"You can't get expelled for being up the duff," Hermione says cheerfully. "I checked. I can challenge the governors, if it comes to it, with a case in 1784 where they let a pixie-goblin hybrid study Charms whist he or she, they never found out, was pregnant."  
"You won't rip their eyes out if they refuse you a place though," Harry points out, "and you probably won't try and lay the eggs of your spawn in their children's eyes."  
"Do you think a womb minimising spell would work?" she asks. Now, Harry, as a man, does not like questions about wombs as a rule. They are dangerous things to him. He doesn't understand them and really doesn't want to. Therefore, instead of an articulate reply, he just gargles. "Sorry. It was Ginny's idea."  
"Ginny should not be trusted on matters of human biology. I love her and she's great with fish but don't let her near your foetus unless it's having trouble swimming upstream. And you should know, I don't care who the father is."  
"Oh, you've heard then," Hermione says grimly.  
"It'll be pretty," Harry says in consolation. "That's what everyone's saying. That and he might have to marry you so you'll get all his money at least, even if he makes you live in a tower."  
"I think we skipped the marriage part," she says, mildly amused by the idea that she might be inciting jealous from some of the Slytherin girls. "And the courting and the love and the meeting the parents and any semblence of dinners together or moonlight dancing or even fucking ice cream. I might make him buy me ice cream to make up for the fact that I am carrying his ferret faced spawn."  
"If I thought he was going to be giving out ice cream, I'd have let him knock me up," Harry says assuring, as if friendly promises could breach the barrier of evolution and general biology.  
But their cheerful exchange is interrupted by the librarian, who tells Hermione there is a small army of senior teachers looking for her and ordering Harry back to some irrelevant lesson.  
The aforementioned preggers sorceress allows herself to be found just outside the library by Flitwick, who looks faintly embarrassed and talks about trees for the entire seven minutes it takes them to walk to McGonagall's office.

In Seventh year Potions, Draco Malfoy is summoned away.  
"It was nice knowing you," Blaise Zambini says, offering his condolences for what he and the rest of his house's cliche see as the charming blonde's inevitable demise at the hands of the femininja Head of Gryffindor house.  
"Don't touch my stuff," Draco says.  
Zambini calls first pick of his brooms, but Millicent Bulstrode wins overall as she calls dibs on his iPod and anything she can find in the back of his draws.  
She's a bright one, she is.

Our two protagonists are brought together by the original catwoman, and are seated in front of her desk as she tries awkwardly to bring the matter to hand.  
"Is there anything you want to tell me?" she asks them, taking pains to appear likable.  
"I'd just like to say," Hermione says amiably, "that the rumour about the grindelow is completely untrue. As is the one about the merpeople and the Womping Willow. I'm not that flexible."  
This does nothing to alleviate the feeling of discomfort that has invaded the room. Draco looks like he might die of mortification.  
"A series of possibly very slanderous rumours have come to my attention," McGonagall says, trying to keep the conversation under her control by hinting shamelessly and hoping that either student in front of her will deign what she does not want to say. Hermione beams at her enthusiastically as Draco tries to envision an escape route. "Rumours of a coitus come anticipatory nature?" Both parties in front of her look incredibly confused. "Oh Jesus!" she seethes. "You know what I mean!"  
"Yes," Hermione says, saving them from any more uncomfortable, incomprehensible adjectives. "It's true. I am," she wiggles her fingers in the manner of a cramped typist, "with child."  
There is a brief, very, very uncomfortable silence.  
"Miss Granger," McGonagall says. "I don't think I can quite convey my disappointment, both in your previous behaviour and your blase indifference."

This is highly unfair. Hermione is not indifferent. She is still in shock and prolific vomiting also really takes it out of a girl.

"In my defense," she says, "I have been dry heaving into a toilet for most of this morning. Biliousness isn't as fun as it might seem."  
Not knowing what to say next, McGonagall turns her wrath onto the unfortunate father.  
"And you Mr Malfoy. I tell you, if there is so much as a mention of consent being an issue in the conceiving of this," she nods and frowns and Hermione so wants her to say 'wee bairn' "thing, there will be dire, dire consequences, you hear me?"  
Hermione objects to the word thing. She thinks she would know if it was a crocodile. Her mate of choice isn't the most pleasant of men but he is, as far as she can tell, wholly human.  
"You're not a werewolf, are you?" she asks. "Only, I feel I should know in case it tries to claw its way out during the next full moon."  
With the subtlety of a brazen moose, Draco shuffles his chair away from her.  
"No," he says slowly. "I'm not. And I might not even be the father. Why are we laying this all on me? Slaggus there could be spinning lies to cover her tracks."  
Hermione has never been called anything like 'Slaggus' before. She thinks the Classical spin almost negates the insult to her virtue.  
"It is definitely yours," she snaps. "I haven't slept with anyone else."  
"How do you know? You didn't remember anything until I told you. With the greatest respect, Professor, I think she's just taking us all for a ride."  
"Why the fuck would I fabricate something like this?!" Hermione yells. "You repulse me!"  
"Still let me shag you."  
Before Hermione can inflict any serious and irreversible damage with the stapler she is brandishing, McGonagall disarms her and quietens them both with threats of fire and brimstone, and plagues on both their houses. When Draco expresses the opinion that the fact that they cannot get a paternity test until after the baby is born is a clear feminist conspiracy, she does allow a slight clouding of her better judgement, so Hermione can get one clean thump in before she has to separate the two of them.  
"In the light of this news" she says, "I am going to have to appear to negate the damage you two have been seen to do with your fornication. I am reprimanding you both in detention until the child is born," she tells them, "with the intent that you can educate your peers on why fast living is evidently a poor idea."  
For Draco, this will be living hell but when it comes to Hermione, McGonagall clearly has no idea what she has unleashed.

And so, just four days later, a selection of posters start to appear around school, offering lunchtime classes for anyone wishing 'to emancipate themselves from the restraints of a masculine society.'  
When Ginny asks how she intends to generate a crowd to these classes, Hermione says she trusts in the dignity of the women of Hogwarts.  
"But Mione," Ginny says, "the good women of Hogwarts don't possess much dignity and that six years of hardcore learning have turned most students into voracious sexual deviants and that the school would benefit much more from a structured sexual education programme or a free condom giveaway at the very least." Hermione looks at her like she's just bitten a walrus. "But what do I know?" she adds cheerfully, resigning herself to the position already set aside for her in the great scheme of things. "Yes, dignity of women. Hurrah."

* * *

Also, I went to see the new HP film yesterday and then wandered around town for two hours grinning like a sexual predator at passers by because I was suddenly reminded of every embarrassing pubescent and pre-pubescent crush I have ever had on the cast. I got to sit next to a lovely middle aged couple who giggled like me all the way through, and didn't mind my inserts of lust or the noises I made or the fact that I made jokes about fish to myself for about five minutes at one point.  
Oh HP fans, DON'T EVER CHANGE. I LOVE YOU SO.


End file.
